


MAE's Hamilton Drabbles and Ficlets

by Michelle_A_Emerlind



Category: Hamilton - Miranda
Genre: Chapters Have Their Own Tags, Drabbles and Ficlets, Explicit Language, Explicit Sexual Content, M/M, Other tags to be added later
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2016-07-07
Updated: 2016-11-07
Packaged: 2018-07-22 03:55:33
Rating: Mature
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 19
Words: 10,814
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/7418845
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Michelle_A_Emerlind/pseuds/Michelle_A_Emerlind
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>A collection of unrelated Hamilton drabbles and ficlets.</p>
            </blockquote>





	1. Quite the Surprise [Hamilton/Jefferson]

**Author's Note:**

> Each chapter will have its own tags and I am putting all of my Hamilton drabbles/ficlets here, so there will be multiple pairings eventually. I will label each chapter with the pairing and put tags in the notes! 
> 
> Tags for Chapter One: First Kiss, Crack, Humor, Man Does Jefferson Owe Hamilton Something. Chapter One is from a prompt by skarlatha: "During their first kiss, Jefferson sneezes."

This was it. The final moment. After years of bickering, countless cabinet meetings, too numerous to count scathing letters bashing each other’s honor, and way more sexual tension than any professional relationship could really be asked to stand, they were finally going to act. They were finally going to break down that wall between them, smash down all expectation, and come together like two burning stars slamming into one another. They were going to kiss. It was going to be beautiful, magical,  _ exhilarating _ . 

Thomas’ hand is on the back of Alex’s neck and he is leaning down. Alex closes his eyes in anticipation and parts his mouth, ready. And then...Thomas tenses suddenly, the room goes still, and without warning… “ACHOO!” 

Alex flinches and then opens his eyes wide to find Jefferson staring in horror at Alex’s face, which feels very wet indeed. “Mother--” Alex starts and then pulls back away so fast, he rivals the speed of lightning. He spits on the ground, which just so happens to be the floor of Thomas’ study and continues, “-- _ fucker! _ Did you just  _ sneeze _ on me?!?” 

Thomas looks like he wants to curl up in a hole and die. Alex, for his part, merely rips a kleenex from Thomas’ desk and starts wiping his face down, glaring. 

“I didn’t…it came on so fast,” Thomas pleads. “I am so--” 

“--damn right you better be sorry!” He spits again for good measure. “Oh, god, it’s  _ everywhere _ .” 

Thomas turns and starts pulling kleenex from the box, approaching and trying to help, but in reality just making everything more clumsy. “Damnit, this is not what I meant when I said we should get  _ dirty _ .” 

“It better not have been,” Alex growls, but lets Thomas clean him up. “I cannot believe you. Are you sick?” 

“...no.” Thomas ducks his eyes in desperation. “It was the dust…” 

“Oh, fuck you,” Alex whimpers and then pulls away, rubs at his nose. “You’re going to make this up to me.  _ Jesus _ .” 

“Oh, yes. Of course.  _ Anything _ .” 

And that’s about the time that Alex pauses, suddenly realizing the moment. Thomas Jefferson looks at him pleadingly, embarrassed, and way too  _ willing _ . And this is really a golden kind of opportunity and how could Alex miss it? He’s going to bitch and moan about it later, but…

“You’re buying me dinner,” Alex snaps. “Lobster and the most expensive wine they have. And then we’re going to a nice clean, no-dust hotel, and you’re going to blow me.”

Jefferson pauses, blinks once, then twice, then opens his mouth--oh, if only Hamilton needed to sneeze right now--closes it, and then nods. “Yes. Yes, of course.” 

And this, of course, marks the first step in a long line of battles that equal Thomas wrapped around Alex’s finger. But oh, he’s completely okay with that. 


	2. A Sight That Can't Be Unseen [Hamilton/Jefferson]

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> This ficlet is a missing scene from [The Monticello Furlough](http://archiveofourown.org/works/6764224/chapters/15459736). Poor Burr! 
> 
> Tags: Humor, Caught, Public Sex, The Poor Copier
> 
> Also, I am going to try to do a new thing where I post a new ficlet or drabble on Tuesdays! So see you next week!

Burr doesn’t understand why in the world the office hasn’t gone paperless, except that it probably has to do with the fact that Washington is as afraid of technology as a mouse is of a cat. Still, though, it would make Burr’s life a lot easier if he could just attach things to a damn email instead of _print_ them and then get up and _walk_ to the copier and _sort_ and _staple_ . He grumbles as he gathers up his papers and starts walking and flipping through them at the same time, organizing them all so the copier can spit them out in appropriate fashion. In fact, he’s so focused on the papers and deciding just how many copies to make for the upcoming cabinet meeting that he misses that the door is closed, which is rather unusual, and that the lights are off, which is _also_ unusual, and that there is a distinctive sound emanating from inside, but it can’t be…

Burr has opened the door and flipped the lights on before he has even realized.

Everyone freezes: Burr at the door, staring wide with his jaw slowly dropping open, Hamilton with his grip on the copier, and Jefferson mid-thrust up into Hamilton. “Oh, _shit_ ,” Hamilton whines and moves to adjust himself where he’s sitting on the glass of the open copier, half off of it where Jefferson is holding him up. His hand accidentally hits the button and the copier makes a clank sound. Burr jumps and drops all his papers. Hamilton squeaks and his body tightens as he startles. Jefferson grunts and makes the tiniest motion of thrust at the tightening.

“ _Uhhhhh_ ,” Burr mutters and drops to his hands, picking up his papers as fast as he can. “Are you two--”

“Get out, Burr!” Hamilton finally yells, finding his voice.

Burr scrambles to get the papers. Hamilton’s hand slips again and the copier beeps, begins working. A flash of light scans across Hamilton. Burr finally gets his papers and moves to stand up, but smacks his his head into the copier feeder and several pieces of paper flutter from his hands to the ground. Hamilton yells at him again. Jefferson joins him this time--“ _Jesus_ , Aaron, get the hell out!”

Burr finally swipes the last few papers from the floor and turns and hightails it out of the _office copy room_ where his coworkers are _fucking_. He rushes back to his desk, looking wild and ruffled, and gives Mulligan a snarl as the man tries to engage him in conversation.

It’s only when he gets back to his desk and collapses into his chair, dropping his papers in a mess, that he realizes just what has happened. Because sitting right there, on the very top of his carefully itemized plan for the cabinet meeting, is a glaringly clear picture of Hamilton’s ass and if you look closely enough you can see just where Jefferson---

“FUCK!” Burr screams and has never scrambled to the shredder so fast. Laurens, on the other side of his cubicle, peeks over the top and gives him an incredulous and worried look. Others in the office, too, start peeping in. Burr stutters and trips and then _flees_ straight to Washington’s office.


	3. My French Lifeguard [Washington/Lafayette]

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Tags for Chapter: First Kiss, Light, Fluff

A pool party in August and between Mulligan and Laurens having a cannonball competition, Burr trying to referee, Hamilton withholding burgers until various people agree to vote on his bill, and Jefferson sneaking cilantro into the patties just because he knows it pisses Hamilton off, Lafayette almost misses Washington stoic in the water, clinging to a pool noodle like his life depends on it. 

Lafayette rounds the corner of the pool to stay as far away from Mulligan, who has gone from cannonball to belly flop with a war cry. “You okay there, mon ami?” Lafayette asks the general. 

Mulligan’s wave causes Washington’s pool noodle to slowly spin counterclockwise. “Fine,” he croaks out, fingernails digging into the foam. 

Lafayette furrows his brow. “Ah...are you sure?” 

Washington nods even as his face gets paler. The pool noodle drifts into the center, toward deeper waters. Lafayette bends down and puts his hands on the edge of the pool, his feet curled in also so he is squatting just over the water. “Are they bothering you, mon cher monsieur?” 

“Nope,” Washington says, voice laced with panic as he drifts to the very center. “Lots of water. Big water. I’m a tall man. I can’t touch the bottom...ohhhhhhhhhhhhhhhh…” 

The situation clicks into place. “Oh, mon coeur,” Lafayette says with a smile, “can you swim?” 

But instead of answering, Washington only looks at him sheepishly and asks, “Help?” 

Lafayette gives him a reassuring wink and then launches himself forward in one smooth stroke, happy that he had secured his hair up in efficient fashion earlier in the morning. He dives in, cutting the water smoothly as he goes under and then curves his lanky body up. He breaks the surface with a small shake of his head and strokes evenly and expertly toward Washington and his little island of polyethylene foam. 

He reaches him easily and wraps his arm around the pool noodle with a warm smile. “Do not worry, George. I’ve got you.” 

Washington gives him a bashful little flicker of his eyelashes and just holds on with a little, “oh!” as Lafayette turns and pushes through water back, dragging the noodle and Washington back into the shallow end. Washington’s feet flop underneath the water like little inexperienced ducks until the tips of his toes can touch the bottom of the pool and he sighs out the biggest relief, pushing forward until his feet can be flat on the surface. “Oh, thank god,” he whines and lifts his hand finally from the pool noodle to wipe water from his eyes. “Don’t tell anyone.” Lafayette nods with a grin and treads water next to him. Washington curves his lip up. “I could kiss you for that.” 

“By all means,” Lafayette chuckles, but believes that the sentiment is a joke until Washington slides a strong arm around his back and pulls him through the water to his chest, finding his lips like some kind of summer poetry. 

Lafayette melts in the water with a little grunt of satisfaction and is about to explore the new action further when Laurens comes in full throttle with his own belly flop, devastating the two men in a wave of water that crashes over the heads. 

“NOPE,” Washington sputters and scrambles for the edge, pulling himself up with little grace that the man usually has. “Nope, nope, nope!” 

Lafayette grins after him and determines to follow up on the kiss later. 


	4. The Night Incident [Burr/Laurens]

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Chapter Tags: Established Relationship, Fluff, Cute

Laurens presses the button on the washer and sighs heavily. How did it come to be that he got roped into laundry duty? But then, Burr does the dishes, so he figures it all evens out in the end. And that’s nice--not just that they have clean dishes in the cabinet, but that  _ Burr  _ is there to do them, that Burr cooks for him, eats with him, that it’s Burr’s dirty pants he’s washing right now. In short, that Aaron is in his life. 

That’s really got to be enough to get him down in the basement, wrestling with the washer. So Laurens takes it, accept the silver lining of sorting socks and heads back upstairs when he’s finished. 

He takes the stairs sluggishly. After all, it’s past midnight and they both should have been in bed an hour ago. He listens as he comes up the stairs to see if Burr is waiting for him, but there isn’t any sound. He must be in bed, Laurens reasons, settled down under the covers with his adorable glasses on and a good book in his hand. Laurens smiles. He can’t wait to get there. 

He rounds the top of the stairs and takes a step out into the dark living room and just when he does, a shadow comes flying at him, large and aggressively descending. Everything happens in a split second--the figure approaches and Laurens shrieks to high heaven, stumbles back and barely catches himself on the railing so he doesn’t tumble down the stairs. His reflexes war between fight and flight and he is just about ready to punch the guy or, alternatively, run downstairs and hide behind the washer, when the light flips on and Burr grins at him manically. 

Laurens, wide-eyed, processes what just happened to him. “You  _ fucker _ !” he says and Burr just laughs and straightens his spine up, strutting down the hallway. “Are you proud of yourself?” Laurens calls after him. 

“Very,” Burr tells him haughtily. “And that,” he points at Laurens as he leisurely walks to the bedroom, “is for Hawaii.” 

“Hawaii?” Laurens calls. “ _ Hawaii _ ? Our honeymoon?  _ Eight years ago _ ?” 

“Mm hmm,” Burr agrees. “You thought I forgot. You thought I wouldn’t remember how you almost made me piss myself on the beach. But I did, didn’t I? I did remember. I was willing to  _ wait for it _ .” 

Laurens glares as Burr keeps grinning and skips into their bedroom. And if later Burr pays for it and lets Laurens top, well, Laurens is sure that for the opportunity, he’ll wait for it, too. 


	5. If We Stop [Hamilton/Jefferson]

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Tags: Established Relationship, Post-Sex

Hamilton rolls off of Jefferson and collapses spent on the bed, staring up at the ceiling while his chest returns from _keep going, keep going, almost there, YES_ to something that approaches normal. Beside him, Jefferson is also panting, sweaty and sticky with Hamilton’s release all over him and, much like Hamilton, he refuses to look at the man that by all rights has to be his partner now after two years of dating.

Around them, the apartment is silent. It’s Jefferson’s apartment, after all, and even though he lives close enough to New York to get to the office in a reasonable amount of time, he’s far enough away to have picked an apartment complex removed from the road and shrouded in trees and all things nature. Which is typical, Hamilton muses, of a man that refuses to admit that New York is his home, even though he only spends about two months of the year in Virginia these days.

But the point is still the same: they are in Jefferson’s apartment. And Hamilton has driven from the center of the city out here for what amounts to basically a booty-call, but that’s not the scary part. The scary part is that Hamilton’s clothes are in the dresser, that his cereal is on top of the fridge, that his shows are recorded on Jefferson’s DVR. And that they just spent the last thirty minutes fucking in silence because Hamilton no longer has to tell Jefferson what angle is right or where he wants his mouth or if he can even finish in him. Those details are negotiated and gone. They are comfortable. And it scares the fuck out of Alex.

“Do you think we should stop?” Hamilton asks into the silence and listens to the little breaths Jefferson sighs. He wonders just when it had happened that he learned how to interpret worlds of information from just one little sound. How it came to be that he knows Jefferson is contemplative, but tense, worried and somehow hopeful. “Yes,” Jefferson says with his typical quick-witted snip.

Hamilton sighs and stares for another minute up at the pebbled cream ceiling above them. “I’ll get my things,” he declares. He sits up and swings his legs to move off of the bed, but Jefferson’s hand is there on his wrist, warm and comforting, the fingers tangling in his skin like the strings of their lives have someone woven together into one fine mess never to be unknotted.

“When have we ever done what we should do?” Jefferson asks him and Hamilton looks at him then and sees it. Sees everything in one quick flash of a gaze and knows that in Jefferson’s eyes are the world.


	6. Summer Sensation [Hamilton/Jefferson]

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Hamilton is really smart in some areas and really not so much in others...
> 
> Chapter Tags: Established Relationship, Sort of Crack

It’s the middle of August and the temperatures are soaring high enough that even Hamilton has started to admit he’s sweating and, perhaps more to the point, that _Jefferson_ is sweating and man, how did he fail to realize how hot his boyfriend looked with a little bit of moisture dapped on his biceps? So maybe it’s the heat or maybe it’s the fantasy of Jefferson shirtless, but either way, Hamilton announces loudly and with vigor that they should go to the local swimming pool and Thomas, remarkably, agrees for once.

The pool is nice, the water cool, and Hamilton gets both a workout and a rather splashing reprieve, but somehow in the mess of all of it--waves and dunking and stroking all alike--he loses Jefferson. Frowning, he breaks his head out of the water and looks around him to see, no, his partner isn’t around. But Jefferson had _just_ stepped into the pool a moment ago, so he must be here somewhere. Maybe he’s underwater, Hamilton reasons, but the seconds tick by and he can’t hold his breath that long and besides, Hamilton knows just how long Jefferson can choke on a cock with his nose pressed up against Hamilton’s skin before he comes up for air and it’s longer than this.

So where the fuck is--

“What the hell are you staring at?” a stranger who happens to be swimming next to him asks.

Hamilton frowns. “Sorry,” he mumbles. “I’ve lost my boy toy--”

“Oh, I’m your _boy toy_ now,” the weird man says.

Hamilton does a double take before he falls into a serious squint and then squeaks out, “ _Jefferson_?!?”

Thomas rolls his eyes and runs a hand through his incredibly smushed up and rather _flat_ hair. “Jesus, you are difficult,” he mutters.

Hamilton balks and then slaps his fingers to Jefferson’s scalp, ignoring the indignant grunt he makes. He tangles his fingers in and pulls and twists and ends up spitting out, “Motherfucker, your hair! It’s like a toy poodle that fell into the ocean.”

Jefferson glares. “Fuck you, it’s not that bad. You’ve seen me wet before.”

“When?”

Jefferson sputters and glares some more. “We’ve been together for six months. _Surely_ you’ve seen my hair wet.”

Hamilton scoffs his disagreement. Jefferson continues to glare. Hamilton tugs to make sure that the wet mop isn’t a wig. “STOP IT,” Jefferson snaps.

Hamilton huffs loudly and starts swimming back to the pool ladder. “WHERE ARE YOU GOING?” Jefferson calls.

“AWAY!” Hamilton yells back. “I don’t like it!”

Hamilton strokes are even and strong, but not large enough to avoid Jefferson easily catching up to him and wrapping an arm around his waist like some kind of sexy boa constrictor. “Oh, you don’t like it?” Jefferson rumbles into his ear. “How about I show you what I know you _do_ like?”

Hamilton grins over his shoulder and lets his tongue dip into a sexy lip lick before he flutters his lashes. “Oh, baby,” he agrees and then smirks, “but dry your hair, first.”

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> So, here's a question for all of you. I'm working on a novel length Ham/Jeff fic that's an A/B/O MPREG and I was wondering if anyone would be into that kind of thing? I haven't seen much of it here in this fandom.


	7. A Tiny Distraction [Hamilton/Jefferson]

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Jefferson is really going to pay for this one.

“Five minutes,” Madison hisses into the phone. “That’s it, Thomas. Five minutes and I can convince everyone on the subcommittee to vote for the agriculture bill.” Jefferson adjusts the phone against his ear and turns to the doorway of the bedroom, craning his neck to see that Alex is still fast asleep. “But you know I’m not going to _have_ five minutes. Hamilton gets here at least half an hour early and when I saw him last, he threatened he was going to hand out _pamphlets_. With itemized arguments spelling doom for the south. You have got to help me.”

Jefferson frowns and presses the speaker closer to his mouth as he whispers. “I don’t think this is really moral, Jemmie.”

Madison pauses. “Well, fight fire with fire. ...right?”

***

Twenty minutes later finds Alex bright-eyed and bushy-tailed as he attempts to both eat a poptart and tug on his pants at the same time. He’s flying, but then again, he’ll have to shave a good fifteen minutes off his already speedy morning routine to make it to the building in time to hand out his godawful pamphlets. That he used Jefferson’s printer for. And shoved them in his face right before they went to bed last evening, leaving Jefferson to dream all night long of his malicious cackle. But Alex is about to find out that turnabout is fair play and Jefferson, well, he’s about to turn the tides of war _dirty_.

“Oh, dammit!” he calls in his most silky voice as he opens the door to the bathroom where the shower is going full throttle.

Hamilton slides out from the kitchen and stops in sight of him, one hand on the living room doorway. He’s about five feet down the hall from Jefferson and Thomas just knows that from this distance, Alex can really take him in--the towel around his waist quickly getting wet, his tight coils of hair, the rivulets of water dripping down his neck and chest and over his hard abs and _oh, yeah,_ Jefferson thinks, _t_ _hat’s it, baby_. Alex’s eyes widen and Thomas watches his Adam’s apple as it bobs in a swallow. “...what?” he asks Thomas.

“It’s just this damn crick in my neck,” Thomas whines. “I can’t turn around right and--” He turns as if trying to look over his shoulder, tightening his chest and thrusting out his hips ever so slightly. Hamilton groans. “--and I can’t wash my back right. Baby, you haven’t taken a shower yet have you? Want to double up with me? Save some water?”

“Uhhhhhhh,” Hamilton starts and then shakes his head. “No, I have a meeting I have to get to. You know that. I’ll shower tonight.” He turns on his heel to speed away, but Thomas calls after him.

“But, Alex,” he purrs, “you know that I have to work late today. And then tomorrow we have the cabinet meeting and when are we going to get to spend time _together?_ ” He lowers his voice and cocks his hip and sure enough, Hamilton turns around to look.

“Jefferson--”

“You don’t want this?” Thomas asks, letting his hand trail down his chest.

“...motherfucker,” Hamilton caves. “But we better make it quick.”

***

The meeting lasts about two hours. And even though Jefferson is snug as a bug in his office, typing out a response to Adams dumb fuckery, he knows this because as soon as the meeting is over, his phone lights up in not one, but three texts quickly becoming five becoming ten becoming...well, it’s not like Jefferson didn’t know this was going to happen.

He picks up his phone and tabs to the Alex section with a smirk.

_YOU FUCKING DICKNUT!_

_I CANNOT BELIEVE YOU!_

_YOU USED SEX TO STALL ME!_

_FUCK YOU, JEFFERSON!_

_I AM GOING TO OWN YOUR ASS SO HARD WHEN I GET HOME!_

_YOU MADE ME LOSE A VOTE!_

_WHERE ARE YOU?_

_WHERE THE FUCK ARE YOU THOMAS?!?!?_

_YOU BETTER BE DOING LIP EXERCISES TO SUCK MY DICK!!!!_

**_WHERE ARE YOU?!?!?!?_ **

Thomas chuckles to himself and slides his phone into his pocket. All par for the course when one is dating Alexander Hamilton.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> For those interested in the a/b/o, here! Have a snippet! Lafayette has taken Hamilton to get some appropriate pregnancy clothing before he really starts showing.
> 
> Silently, Jefferson takes in the scene. Several store workers mill about, helping here and there with various questions about colors and sizes. Jefferson notes from their body language and aura that the majority of them are betas, although there is one omega trying to make herself look small. Other than that, there are quite a lot of pregnant people in various stages and an equal amount of alphas either staying jealously close to their partners or giving them some space and sitting in the waiting area, even if the atmosphere is tense and uncomfortable. The smells filter around Jefferson--aggressive pheromones from those sitting close to him, submissive ones from most of the room. And although each individual thread is unique unto itself, they are all so similar in tone that they blend together into one big melting pot that Jefferson is so used to he can almost ignore. Even Lafayette, who has now shooed Hamilton to a fitting room, coalesces into the larger aura, his personal tone bending and weaving to his surroundings. 
> 
> Jefferson doesn't falter. Like always, he is something apart. He wonders what he feels like to others, what they sense in him, what his specific tone and aura says about what kind of man he is. He feels almost defensively neutral and the alphas around him respect the bubble that he keeps for himself. He doesn’t throw his weight around, doesn’t need them to know he is charge, doesn’t want to be in charge anyway. And he isn’t jealous, even now, over either of the two that walked in with him. He doesn’t set himself up as their keeper, watcher, or protector. He is his own and he lets them be their own and that fact in itself sets him worlds apart from the alphas that never stray a foot from their mates and from, too, the omegas who buy into the false reality that the world is one way, that there is such a thing as should be. 
> 
> And then, of course, there is Hamilton. Jefferson senses him even if he doesn’t see him and only now does he realize how familiar he has become to Hamilton’s presence. It is like the store is an ocean of constantly moving water, liquid that crashes and coalesces together, each individual string of molecules making a drop of water that makes a wave that makes the sea and Hamilton--Alexander, the name is sweet in his thoughts--is a stone that juts from that sea, that brings solidity and protection, a place to be, a place to rest, the foundation of something secure, but striking and wild and rough. Jefferson could never claim him. None of these others sitting nearby could, either, even if they wanted to. And Jefferson knows that even Laurens never could. And why, god, for all that is sacred, why would Jefferson ever want to? 
> 
> So he doesn’t posture. And he doesn’t command. He simply waits until Hamilton walks out of the fitting room in a ridiculously fluffy sweater with sleeves too long for his arms and a figure that drops his waist down somewhere around his hips and when Hamilton turns to him with an exasperated half-smile, half-frown on his face at the ridiculousness of this all--like it is somehow natural for them to seek each other across a room--Jefferson releases a tendril of himself like he hasn’t done for so longer he barely remembers how, and lets his aura brush up against Hamilton’s in something like supplication. Hamilton blinks and holds his gaze. Jefferson keeps it, too, and they stare like that, in a moment frozen in the middle of a cheap and sticky mall, something shifted in the wind.


	8. One Large Misunderstanding [Lafayette/Washington]

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> This is kind of crack-ish considering that even Washington must know what "oui" means, but there you go. 
> 
> Tags: Established Relationship, Misunderstanding, Humor, Dirty Language (ha, I'm so funny)

Eliza and Mulligan’s wedding is near perfect. Simple and elegant, each decoration has been picked out with a loving touch from the bride and a discerning eye from the tailor that makes even the walls and the ceiling compliment one another into a soft low-lighting of romance. The ceremony goes off without a hitch and even Hamilton seems to be curbing his tongue for his friend, simmering down from outrageous to merely agitating--not to say that Washington hasn’t always liked the man. Nevertheless, it’s nice to see Hamilton with softer eyes tonight as he talks to the newlyweds and even nicer to see Eliza and Mulligan together, his brashness melting away whenever she looks at him, his feet practically tripping over themselves to give her anything she desires.

It’s beautiful. It’s inviting. And Washington finds that the atmosphere of love keeps him close by Lafayette’s hip. Of course it does, why wouldn’t it? Five years together is still too short of a time in Washington’s view and he still finds himself looking upon Lafayette and seeing him from new angles everyday, perhaps every minute. And this, well, this is one of them.

Lafayette is talking with Peggy, who is raving over her sister’s dress, even though she is half-appalled that the _groom_ stitched it. They are well into their conversation and Washington is only half listening--instead choosing to focus on the curl of hair that has escaped from Lafayette’s ponytail and is attached to the nape of his neck--when he hears it. A breathy little, “ _Oui, oui_.”

Washington freezes where he stands. He’s heard that before--of course he has. He knows every sound that Lafayette has and ever will make. But that word, that _word_ , Washington only hears that phrase in one _particular_ place and it’s saved for the bedsheets as they writhe with Washington over him, Lafayette’s hips rutting with his own and his mouth spilling “Oui, oui, _oui, oui, oui_ ,” right before they…

Well, the point is that it’s not a word for polite company and Washington _tells_ him so. “GILBERT!” he hisses. “Language at the _wedding_.”

Lafayette blinks at him rapidly and Peggy furrows her brow, quickly retreating when it becomes evident these particular lines of comments are headed for a lover’s quarrel.

“What?” Lafayette gasps in indignation.

“You don’t _say that_ ,” George whispers aggressively between them, scooting in with the hopes that no one else will hear, “in mixed company. What has gotten into you?”

“What...did I say?”

“That word.”

“What word?”

“The word.”

“George.”

“Don’t make me say it.”

“Darling, whatever are you--”

“ _Oui_.”

Lafayette blinks again and then busts out into laughter. “Oui? You think oui is a dirty word?”

“Well,” Washington says, feeling himself getting more embarrassed by the moment, “you say it when I’m...you know.”

“When you are what?” Lafayette asks, a twinkle to his eye.

“You know.”

“No, my love, I do not.”

“ _Finishing_ , goddammit, man.”

Lafayette laughs again. “Who is the man speaking dirty now, in this beautiful company?” Washington glares, but Lafayette continues his speech. “So you think ‘oui’ means something akin to a man coming?”

“Gilbert! HUSH!” He frowns and then pauses. “...so it doesn’t?”

Lafayette laughs again. “Well...I suppose I can see where you might have gotten that impression. But no, my dear George. It simply means ‘yes.’”

Washington’s face flames up hotter than a southern summer. “It means...yes?”

Lafayette smiles and says softly with that twinkle back in his eye, “Oui.”

“Oh.” Washington bites his lip. “I suppose I should apologize to Ms. Peggy, huh?”

Lafayette leans forward and presses his lips to Washington’s skin right next to his ear. “I suppose you should. And then later,” a little chuckle, “we can discuss this in private and I will make you... _oui_.”


	9. Courage [Burr/Laurens]

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> An alternative universe in which Laurens never died and instead of dueling Hamilton, Burr did...well, something else. 
> 
> Tags: First Kiss, Pining

It’s the middle of the night, so Laurens has no idea what Burr wants to confer about, but what he  _ is  _ conscious of is the fact that it is two a.m. and Burr is standing before him on the doorstep wringing his hands in front of himself and looking like the very picture of agitation. 

These are the first thoughts that flit into John’s mind as he squints out under the streetlight that hangs so annoyingly right over his house and they are quickly followed by many other wisps of notice like flocks of birds startled from a tree. Aaron is beautiful, outlined in the darkness of the city night at his back, the bright light on his face to accent his cheekbones. And John is a fucking mess--pajama bottoms half off one hip and hair that looks like five families of rats are fighting for territory. Add that to the heel of his hand rubbing viciously at his eye and the extraordinary yawn he is giving and, well, the picture of Aaron in his grace and finery doesn’t even touch the image of John looking like a rag-tag city urchin.

But there are other thoughts that soar across John’s mind--like how Alex isn’t home yet and probably still out with Jefferson, how he hasn’t checked the news and, yes, how this is the night that the election results should be--

“I swore,” Aaron says to him, soft, but with growing confidence, “I...I swore that what I would do to celebrate if I won the presidency was…” He clears his throat. “But I didn’t win. I lost. Rather miserably, thanks to that friend of yours. And so I went home and I was just stewing about it. Walked a hole into my carpet. Banged my head on that blasted pipe I need to fix. ...twice. But, I couldn’t stop thinking about how disappointed I was. Not with losing. I mean, I am, but...but with not...so forget that. Forget what deal I made with myself.” He draws himself up higher. “Fuck it,” he says and  _ that _ wakes Laurens up, Burr’s determined cussing. 

“I swore,” Aaron states again, “that if I won the election, I would gather up all my courage and come here to tell you the thing that I have always wanted to tell you. That if I was man enough for a presidency, I was man enough for this. But  _ fuck it _ . I lost, but I’m going to do it anyway. Because I’m not a coward, John. And I need you to know...that I love you. And I always have.” 

John blinks, even though his eyes have now adjusted to the light. Aaron stands before him, still wringing his hands, but his shoulders square, eyes determinedly meeting John’s and refusing to break. John swallows and reaches blindly until his hand touches the doorframe for support. “You love me?” 

“I do.” 

“And you always--”

“--have, yes. And will. I will. Even if you don’t--” 

“--I do.” 

“You what?” 

“I love you.” 

“You--”

“I love you, too, Aaron,” John says again, firm and true. And maybe it’s the fact that Aaron looks wide-eyed in relief and happiness or maybe it’s the streetlight getting to his addled mind or maybe it’s just the fact that it’s two a.m. and John has been wanting this ever since the war, but whatever it is, he wastes no time. He walks forward, his bare feet scuffing over the rough cobblestone and he captures Aaron’s mouth as simply and elegantly as the night city around them. 

Aaron melts against him, falls upon his chest like he has always been meant to and John cradles him up, pulls him in, kisses him fiercely and claiming, doesn’t relent until he hears the softest of whimpers from Burr that is really everything from a man that refuses to show any cards. And when Burr simply blinks at him and ducks his eyes in embarrassment, John threads their hands together and starts pulling Aaron back and into the apartment. Because even now, on the hardest night of Burr’s life when he has lost what feels like everything, he has also won. 


	10. Searching the World [Lafayette/Washington]

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> As requested by Skarlatha, another "Washington doesn't understand French" drabble. This one in France!

Lafayette is in the French marketplace and it is an average day. Or at least, that’s how it starts, his journey to pick up some tomatoes and squash. The day is new and bright and even though this is France, so very far away from America and his friends (not that they don’t text him every chance they get), so far from revolution (at least, how it sits now, although France is bubbling), and yes, so very far away from George (his George, always his George), the day is good. The day is kind. The day is beautiful.

So at first Lafayette ignores the arguing he hears across the street at the apple vendor. Today is not the day for arguing--the sun is too light, the air too sweet. He pays it no mind, hums over the apple man as he snaps, the customer as he argues...well, what exactly, Lafayette doesn’t know. His accent is atrocious and he just keeps saying _pomme_ over and over again like it means something. Some deal gone wrong, Lafayette assumes, and tries his best to ignore it.

But the arguing intensifies. And even Lafayette can’t ignore the conversation when he hears, ever so roughly like it’s been ground through a paper shredder, his own name in a terrible French accent-- “NON! GILBERT LAFAYETTE! NON POMME!”

The vendor goes into a tirade about how if the man doesn’t want an apple, he needs to just go the hell away because he doesn’t know any _Gilbert_. Lafayette’s eyebrows raise, even if his back is to the street and he is currently picking up varieties of squash and attempting to decide what he wants.

“Non!” the man--American, Lafayette thinks, if he can pick up the accent through the crumbles of the broken French language. “Ou est...dammit. Ou Monsieur Lafayette?”

Another tirade.

“Oh, hell!” the American man grumbles. “Doesn’t anyone around here speak English? ENGLISH. AMERICAN.”

And something about how he says that, some little tick of the voice, finally clues Lafayette in and his back goes ramrod straight as he turns and calls across the market, “George?!?”

Washington’s head snaps up and he stumbles, his hands clutching a French phrasebook that looks beaten with the amount of times he’s flipped through it. “Oh, thank god. LAFAYETTE!”

George rushes through the street and Lafayette merely raises his eyebrows as he watches him almost get hit by a moving cart. But he makes it to the other side, frazzled though he might be, and attempts to smooth his jacket down before saying, “...bonjour.”

Lafayette’s grin is as wide as the sea. “Bonjour, Monsieur Washington. Ça va?”

Washington stands there awkwardly and shifts on his feet. “I...don’t know what that means.”

Lafayette chuckles. “George, mon ami, what are you doing in _France_?”

“I hopped a plane,” he answers briskly.

“Oh and here I thought you had swam,” Lafayette teases and George looks constipated. “Easy, my friend,” Lafayette continues and reaches out to squeeze Washington’s arm. “I know you hopped a plane. The question is: why?”

“I wanted to see you,” George says with bashfulness. “I was...lonely. In America. And I kept thinking about you.”

“My dear General,” Lafayette says with another chuckle, “I’ve been thinking about you, too.”

“You have?” George asks, grabbing onto the sentiment. “Because I can’t get you out of my head. Nor can I get out the notion that I have to tell you…” He trails off awkwardly and bites his lip.

“Tell me…?”

“That I love you,” Washington finally says in a breath.

Lafayette blinks and stands up straighter. “You…”

“Je t’aime,” Washington says with a nod and then pauses. “That’s right? Isn’t it? How do you say--”

But Lafayette has heard him loud and clear and leans forward to give Washington an answer to the real question. His lips find George’s easy--far easier than it must have been to gather the courage to get on a plane and far easier it seems than George learning the beautiful French language. But, ah, in this right here, this moment where they kiss for the first time, this George must find easy, as well, because he melts as he kisses back and sweeps Lafayette up in a damn grand, romantic gesture and this, Lafayette thinks as he hums against Washington's mouth, this is better than any sunshine or squash.


	11. It Has Come to This [Hamilton/Jefferson]

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Tags: Established Relationship, Lots of Swearing, Affrontedness, Kind of Cracky

All things said, they make it longer than Jefferson thinks they will. 

They spend two glorious months together, fucking over Jefferson’s desk and in the back corner of the storage room. After that, another month of getting piss drunk and taking each other home for sloppy thrusting and extra spitty BJs, ending only when one of them decides to stumble back out onto the street in search of his apartment. Then about two weeks at restaurants, movies, one time that Jefferson wants to bleach from his brain in which they played mini-golf, and it starts to feel like-- _ gulp-- _ dating. 

So Hamilton stays over at his house. For the first time. With a change of clothes and everything.  _ Intentional _ , as it were. And Jefferson is pretty sure it’s all going to blow up into one big firework hell show, but it kind of...doesn’t. They have a nice dinner, agreeing to disagree on pizza toppings and doing half pineapple, half supreme. They watch  _ Captain America: The Winter Soldier  _ until Hamilton gets so bored he starts sucking Jefferson off. And then Jefferson reciprocates. And then they lay on the couch in post-coital bliss talking fondly of legislative process until Jefferson starts to get handsy again and they go to the bedroom to fuck until Hamilton screams so loud, all of the Caribbean is likely to hear even from Thomas’ little place in New York. 

And they fall asleep. Fairly standard for date night, but it’s them, really. Which is the oddity of it all. 

So when Jefferson wake up around eleven the next morning to a crash from the bathroom followed by a hissing, spitting Hamilton as mad and fluffy as a honey badger, he figures yeah. Yeah, it’s probably time. They’ve out stayed their welcome. 

“I CANNOT,” Hamilton says through a clench in his throat, “FUCKING BELIEVE YOU. Do you not...do you not have... _ decency _ , Jefferson? You know, common decency?” 

Jefferson has no idea what the issue on the table is, but he figures if Hamilton is this pissed at him then it must be something he’ll  _ really _ care about, so he sneers just to do it and says, “It’s how the world  _ is _ , Hamilton.” 

Hamilton puts a hand on his chest and stumbles back. “How the world  _ is _ ? This is tyranny! This is oppression! Did we not fight for freedom? Do you have even an  _ ounce _ of regret?” 

“Regret!” Jefferson scoffs and slinks out of bed to stand even though the only thing covering himself is a thin pair of boxers. “No, Hamilton. All my choices, I make wisely.” 

Hamilton takes in a sharp breath of indignation. “But  _ this _ .  _ This _ , Jefferson, betrays  _ every ideal _ of our  _ nation _ .” 

“Sure it does,” Jefferson snaps and crosses his arms over his chest. “I’m sure. And what would you have me do, Hamilton? Forfeit my beliefs?” 

“Beliefs?” Hamilton growls. “Beliefs in this  _ red and white massacre _ ?” 

“Yes, Hamilton, my...wait, what? Red and white? Did you forget a color?” 

“NO, JEFFERSON!” Hamilton all but wails and stalks into the bathroom before stomping right back out and throwing something straight at Jefferson’s head. 

Thomas reacts poorly and before he can ward off the offending object, it knocks him straight up in the nose and smears shit in his hair and it’s only then that Jefferson realizes it’s a...toothbrush. A fucking--

“COLGATE?!?” Hamilton shrieks. “FUCKING COLGATE? It’s in my goddamn mouth, Jefferson! My MOUTH.” 

“...the  _ fuck _ ,” Jefferson mutters and tries to wipe the half used toothpaste out of his hair. “This is about...toothpaste.” 

“Toothpaste?” Hamilton snaps. “ _ Toothpaste _ ? Like it’s just  _ toothpaste _ ? What are you, sick? Four out of five dentists recommend Crest, you fucking idiot.  _ Four  _ out of  _ five _ . They did teach you math in Virginia, didn’t they?” 

Jefferson rolls his eyes so hard, he makes a mental note to dig them out later from behind the dresser where they’ve rolled when he gives two shits. He turns around and flops back into bed, ripping the covers up and over his head. “I’m going back to sleep,” he calls, muffled by the fabric.

“Yeah!” Hamilton answers. “Yeah, you are! Have sweet dreams! Of when you used to have GOOD TEETH.”  


	12. Trade Offs [Hamilton/Jefferson]

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Tags: BJ, Exploitation, But They Both Get What They Want

Alexander Hamilton can suck a dick.

 Jefferson knows this from experience. In fact, he knows from much personal experience many times over just how good of a cocksuck Alexander Hamilton really is. Knows how Hamilton can lick the underside like a fucking artist, can swirl his tongue like a rockstar, can deep throat like the best and brightest Nobel Prize winner ever to live. It's evident in Jefferson's memories, right there at the forefront of his mind. It's not hard to recall the way Alexander's eyes look when he's gazing up at Jefferson from his knees, not hard at all to remember the way his throat swallows so tight and perfectly, the way his fingers feel around Jefferson's balls, the way he sometimes gets sparkles in his eyes when he reaches a finger back to Jefferson's entrance and slides in just one finger...

Not hard at all to bring the image up from the depths of his brain. No, not difficult in the least. Considering Hamilton has Jefferson's cock in his mouth now. Considering Hamilton is on his knees in front of him and Jefferson is pushing his dick past those pretty swollen lips and dragging fingers through fine, easily tangled hair.

Jefferson throws his head back and moans--loud and long into the apartment devoid of life except for the two of them. He fucks Hamilton's mouth slow, with vigor, and gasps and squirms at every suck Hamilton gives, every lick, every tease, every sinfully wet sound. He gets faster in his rhythm, more desperate in his demand, and he's almost there, almost about to come straight down the bitch of a Secretary of the Treasury's throat, when Hamilton pulls out with what should be an illegal little pop and grins ear-to-ear.

"I'll deep throat you," Hamilton tells him with a sleazy smile, his voice already raw from the fucking, "if you sign my bill."

"...what?" Jefferson gasps, his cock twitching, his nails digging into the back of Hamilton's head, his hips aching to push forward.

"The revenue marine," Hamilton whines. "I need to stop the pirates."

"You want me to sign..."

"Come on, baby." Hamilton leans forward and gives the most deliberately soft lick to the tip of Jefferson's cock. "You know that would be a good use of federal funds."

"You know how I feel about your damn _coast guard_."

"But I want your come. I want it down my throat." He flutters his eyelashes and licks his lips slow and intentional.

"Stop being a whore," Jefferson growls and attempts to stick it back in despite Hamilton's belligerence. "I'm not going to let you use sex--"

I just want you," a virulent, wet stripe up the underside. "I want your _dick_. I want your _come_. Please, Jefferson..."

Jefferson groans and bites his lip, staring down at Alexander's painfully large eyes and imagining--remembering--the feeling of releasing, of Hamilton's throat swallowing around him...

"FINE. I'll sign your bill. Just finish me." He moves forward to fuck back into Hamilton's mouth, but Alexander stops him, pulling away.

"Uh, no, no." He reaches behind him and opens a set of drawers, draws out a slip of paper and a pen. "Sign it."

"Are you fucking SERIOUS?"

"What?" Hamilton snaps. "Uh, if I let you get away with this, you'll come and then cackle and refuse to sign and Washington caught me the last time I tried to forge your signature, so sign it, Thomas. Sign it, _now_."

Jefferson glowers and then rips the paper from Hamilton's hand. He glares down at him and is mortally offended that his dick is hard as a rock while he scratches his signature into the page and all but throws the pen back at Hamilton's head. "Now, finish me, you goddamn tease."

"With pleasure," Hamilton purrs and goes back at it like a pro and if about three seconds later when Jefferson is deep in Hamilton's throat and comes harder than he ever has he thinks about how sexy it is when Hamilton takes control, well, no one needs to know about that little minor detail.


	13. Daddy's Calling [Hamilton/Jefferson]

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Tags: Mentions of some kinky stuff, humor, Madison is having the BEST DAY EVER

“WELL,” Jefferson says, all bristled and uptight, his back ramrod straight as Madison and--huh, Hamilton guesses that is Burr--stand behind him at the ready like some form of political cabinet gang, “someone oughta remind you.”

Hamilton rolls his eyes and once he’s done with the motion, lets his chin dip into pure boredom and a little condescending smile flirt across his mouth that he just knows burns Jefferson’s biscuits. “What?” he sneers.

“You’re _nothing_ without Washington behind you,” Jefferson informs him like that even matters. Everyone in the room right now has to know that Hamilton will always end up winning, that he is relentless, non-stop, determined, focused, immoveable--

“Daddy’s calling,” Jefferson sneers and Hamilton balks and his mouth shoots off before his brain catches up with him.

“What?” he says on auto-pilot, quick flashes rushing through his mind of all of the things they did last night. “You said I couldn’t call you that in public!”

Jefferson goes even more rigid and then locks his jaw, his lips going tight and his eyes going wide in a mixture of both horror and rage. Meanwhile, Hamilton is just now noticing that Washington is calling him from his office and that the insult was for _Washington_ and not for _Jefferson_ and before he can backpedal long enough to cover up the fact that he and Jefferson fuck like mad with a tiny bit (okay, a lot) of ageplay, Madison gives a loud and obnoxious snort and starts motioning between them.

“Oh my lord,” Madison says with glee sparkling in his eyes. “You two...oh my…” He gives a chuckle that turns into a cough and he raises his handkerchief to his mouth before clearing his throat and returning to grinning. “Well. Thomas, my friend.” He claps Jefferson on the shoulder and Jefferson rolls his eyes high to Heaven. “You get you some.”

Burr, in the background, is snickering his face off, and Madison just manages to clasp him around his elbow and drag him away before Jefferson starts snapping off at Hamilton. “Are you _serious_ , Alex?” he hiss whispers, smacking his hand down on his own leg and stomping his foot in rage. “You can’t keep your mouth shut! Not for one minute! JESUS. I am going to _murder_ you. Bitch slap you. Throttle you--”

“Punish me?” Hamilton says with a little smile, trying to lighten the mood and cover up the absolutely massive mistake he just made. “You could punish me, Daddy…”

Jefferson just lifts his finger in anger and waggles it in Hamilton’s direction while he obviously tries to hold his own tongue. And then, with a swirl of his heel, he is stomping off after Madison and Hamilton opens his mouth to say--.well, something he shouldn’t--but Jefferson all but shrieks back at him to cover up his voice.

Oh well, Hamilton thinks to himself as he turns to head to Washington’s office. It’s not like he doesn’t know what to do to make it up to Jefferson. And, oh yes, you can guarantee he’s going to get himself punished tonight.


	14. Rage-Fueled Garden Shenanigans [Laurens/Burr]

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Tags: Established Relationship, Rage-Fueled Garden Shenanigans
> 
> So, Skari pulled up the A03 tag generator and found this gem (the title) and asked me to use it as a prompt. So here you guys go...

Laurens knows from the moment Burr walks in the door that he’s pissed as all hell. Which is, all things considered, quite the feat considering that John never really has much to work with where his husband is concerned. Other couples have it easier, John thinks. There’s Hamilton and Jefferson and that, well, that’s just child’s play to know if one them has a bee in their bonnet. There’s the familiar yelling, the age-old hand gestures, even the stand-by throwing shit at the wall. There’s the stomping, the cursing, the (John is pretty sure) phenomenally aggressive make-up sex and...well, the point is that it’s easy for them to tell when their partner is angry. And then there’s Lafayette and Washington. Different, but still easy--Washington with his pinched lips and furrowed brow, Lafayette with his increasingly snooty HUMPHs and the way he likes to slam doors. That’s also easy in it’s way. So is Angelica with her refusal to talk to you, Mulligan with his stress sewing, Adams with his hissy fits, Eliza with her cold, intimidating stare. They all have their way. But Burr. Aaron Burr. Mr. Aaron Burr, wed to one John Laurens, he’s the mystery.

He opens the door neutrally and walks into the house in his casual wear, which John has always thought is still on this side of formal. He pulls off his gardening gloves one-by-one, pulling at each finger and then sliding the fabric off, dropping, not throwing, them on the endtable. He stretches, reaches up to put his hand on his jawline as he cracks his neck, turns to Laurens in the living room and gives him quite the average smile before walking into the kitchen. And Laurens knows without a shadow of a doubt that Aaron is boiling pissed.

“Uhhhhh…” he says from his spot on the recliner, setting down his latest social justice anthology. “The tulips?”

“The _roses_ ,” Aaron says and John listens to the opening and shutting of the fridge--not too forceful, not to soft. He walks out into the living room with a bottled water in his hands and sits on the sofa, near the edge, perfect posture.

“Oh, honey,” John says and reaches across the divide between furniture to clasp his hand. “I’m so sorry. You were wishing so hard that they would come into their own this year.”

“I know,” Aaron says with a hefty sigh and finally leans back into his sofa with a frown on his face, slouching. John waits it out. It usually takes, yes...at the two minute mark, Burr starts ranting. Starts hissing and spitting and describing and explaining about how the damn things just will never come in right and how he’s spent all his year pruning and watching and nursing and why can’t they ever give him the time of day?

And then when it’s over--ten minutes, that’s about right--Burr trails off with a sigh and looks over sheepishly at Laurens. “How do you always know?”

“Know what?” John asks, giving him an intimate smile, but going back to his book now that the crisis has past.

“That I need to vent?”

Laurens stops flipping his page and turns back to him with a light chuckle. “Because.” He sets the book aside and stands up, walks over to Aaron and drops down next to him, wrapping an arm around his shoulder and dragging him in close. “I know you, that’s why. I know you inside and out, my Aaron. And I know that when you are feeling particularly out of control, you make sure that every action you take is perfectly controlled. The door opens with the perfect amount of effort, your steps are neither heavy nor light, your smile is neither strained nor inviting. You do the same thing when you are incredibly nervous.” Laurens chuckles again. “Our first date, I had you pegged as near compulsive in your perfections. But then I learned. You want to appear composed. And only when you are safe will you allow yourself to be free.”

“I’m safe with you,” Aaron says and lays his head on John’s shoulder.

“I know,” Laurens says and kisses the top of his head. “And don’t you worry about it one bit. Next year, we’ll kick those roses asses, I can promise you that.”


	15. The Conversation [Hamilton/Jefferson]

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Tags: Established Relationship, Reading Between the Lines
> 
> I know this one is short, guys, but I wanted it to have a kind of stark feel. Just a little moment in time. :)

“It’s been seven years.”

The statement is heavy, dripping, like Hamilton wants it to mean something. Jefferson stops cutting into his steak and pauses with both knife and fork pointed toward the ceiling. Hamilton’s eyes are poison.

He sets the utensils aside, resist the urge to drink the rather expensive wine that Hamilton had ordered at the waiter’s recommendation. “I guess this month it will be.”

“No,” Hamilton all but sneers in that way he has. “Today is seven years.”

Jefferson pauses. But he is right. Seven years today since Jefferson flew into his office like Hamilton’s own personal hurricane, pushed him up against the wall, and had him somewhere between dominance and affection.

“Yes,” Jefferson says, picks up his utensils, begins cutting again.

“Eliza lasted four,” he tells Jefferson, as if this is news.

“Yes.” Knife between the tines. “She didn’t like it that you fucked me.”

“Burr lasted two.”

“He didn’t like it when you fucked _him_.”

“Laurens lasted six.”

Jefferson pauses again. The utensils go down.

“Six years,” Hamilton clarifies, “eleven months.”

“That’s seven years.”

“No, not quite.”

“Sure.”

“But we are seven years.” Hamilton reaches into his pocket, pulls out a little velvet box, and slides it Jefferson’s way. He picks up his fork and knife, cuts a square of his steak, puts it in his mouth. “Drink your sherry,” he tells Jefferson and Jefferson does.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> This is, like, the most minimalistic proposal scene ever, lol.


	16. What Has Jefferson Done Now? [Hamilton/Jefferson]

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Chapter Tags: Established Relationship, Humor, A Little Cracky, Romance

Hamilton starts to become suspicious when no one will look him in the eye at work. It starts subtly--Washington having a fascination studying his bookcase, Madison rather deep in his work, Lafayette giving him too bright of a smile before glancing back to his computer. But then it becomes more obvious. People begin to avoid him, jump into the next room when he is headed their way, skirt around a corner, jerk their heads down to the ground. And what’s more, people start to look at him when he isn’t looking at them--like he is a sideshow or deserving of _pity_ and Alexander Hamilton is a smart enough man to know when something has been going on around his back, so he picks his victim and descends on Madison with the flurry of hell behind his coattails.

“WHAT IS IT, JAMES?” Hamilton growls and Madison squeaks in alarm which somehow causes a rather impressive sneeze that Hamilton doesn’t back away from in time and ends up all over his shirt.

“...excuse me,” Madison says weakly and returns to his computer before Hamilton grabs him by his lapels and whisks him around to intimate him again.

“What does everyone know that I don’t, huh, Madison? Is it Washington? Is he going to fire me? Are we going to war again? Is it the damn Portuguese? Is it Jefferson?” At the mention of Jefferson, Madison pales and tries to look down at the desk, so Hamilton tightens his grip and shakes him. “It’s JEFFERSON. What has he done? Has he passed a new bill? Did he sabotage my office supplies again--put them back in jello? DID HE RELEASE THE SEX TAPE WE MADE LAST WEEKEND?!?” Madison’s jaw drops and he looks both confused and strangely smug about what Hamilton just said and it’s Hamilton’s turn to blush and then look around sheepishly at all the other employees now looking toward Madison’s desk. “...it’s not about the sex tape, is it?” Hamilton asks. Madison shakes his head. “...goddammit.” Hamilton squeezes his eyes and then shakes Madison again. “WHAT IS IT, MAN? WHAT DID HE DO?”

“Hey, Alex!” Lafayette calls from several offices down. “You haven’t read the paper yet this morning, have you?”

Paper? _PAPER_. Printed with no retractions…

Hamilton scrambles his way to his desk and grabs his copy of the local paper, flipping through it desperately until he finds the editorial article by one Secretary of State, Thomas Jefferson, who is about to be a Secretary of State, Thomas Jefferson without a boyfriend once Hamilton is through with him. He reads with a burning intensity over the rather grandiose preamble that has nothing to do with the actual topic at hand and then into the meat of the article--the gross inaccuracies that depict the value of state over federal, the atrocious and _wrong_ claims about the banking system, the state of the nation’s agriculture, blah blah blah…

THERE! Hamilton’s name. He skips to it: “I believe that we, as an intellectual country, can agree that the heart of everything that is wrong with America lies in the hands of our current Secretary of the Treasury, Alexander Hamilton.” There it is. Hamilton damn well knew it. He keeps reading. “And that if only Mr. Hamilton would grow a pair and open his eyes to the state of the union, he would know without a doubt that the only way to solve the current crisis is to…” What is he going to say? Remove Hamilton from office? Try him for treason? Exile him to the throws of (gasp) Europe? “...marry me.”

Of course! Hamilton knew Jefferson would stoop to pure torture to...wait, what? Alex pauses, looks back over the line, reads it again and follows it up with a third reading before skimming down to the last line of the article: “For real, Alex. We’ve been together for seven years. Will you marry me?”

Hamilton lets the paper fall from his hands and snaps his gaze up to look at Jefferson’s door all the way across the office floor. Slowly, he stands and makes his way there and is incredibly aware that every head turns as he passes them to watch him as he walks. He rather feels like a silly little bride walking down the aisle, but hell, he guesses that’s what he’s about to be because he walks into Jefferson’s office and shuts the door and turns to stare at him with an open mouth.

Jefferson pauses where he’s signing papers. He gives Alex an up-and-down glance. “Did you read the article?”

“What were you _thinking_?” Hamilton chides him. “In the _paper_. And without so much as a ring. I ought to…”

Jefferson smiles as he trails off and opens his desk drawer, brings up a little box and sets it at the edge of his desk for Alex. “A ring you were saying? Well, if you want it, I need an answer.”

And Hamilton, nearly jumping over the space between the door and the desk while Thomas himself stands and is ready to catch Alex thrown into his arms, exclaims with a kiss the only word he can remember to say: “Yes.”

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I just wanted to give you guys a fun proposal after the serious drabble last time! I hope you enjoyed it!


	17. Red, White, and Blue, but Mostly Red [Hamilton/Jefferson]

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Tags: Crack, Humor, Halloween Costumes, Silliness, Generally Fun, Established Relationship or New? idk. You decide! 
> 
> From a prompt by Skari. :D
> 
> Also, if you want to know, this is Hamilton's costume: http://i.ebayimg.com/images/i/400844393099-0-1/s-l1000.jpg

Jefferson is minding his business, talking to Madison, when a lobster hits him. And not just any lobster, per say. Not, like, a dead lobster thrown at his head and not a live lobster flying through the air. Although, live wire, assuredly. No, this is a rather fluffy lobster, if all things are being considered. Kind of a cotton and polyester lobster with a hole in its throat where Hamilton's head is sticking through and Jefferson suddenly regrets with everything in him coming to this costume party.

Hamilton wallops him with his cotton claw a second time and Jefferson’s hair comically springs back into place after said abuse. “WHAT,” Jefferson huffs and adjusts his suit with the little American flag pin on it, sets down the coffee mug reading _#1 President_ that is an essential part of his attire, “are you doing, Alexander? _Jesus_.”

“No,” Hamilton says simply as he starts smacking him in succession, and if Jefferson wasn’t currently being bombarded with pretend seafood, he would take the time to notice the rather hilarious bobbing of Hamilton’s plastic antenna on top of his head.

“HAMILTON!”

Alex huffs, but the stuffing that balloons out of his body rather loses the effect. “You are not allowed to go as something you _are_ , Thomas. This is absurd!”

“This is absurd, what?”

“What?”

“That’s right. This is absurd, _Mr. President_.”

The claws strike with vengeance and Jefferson nearly loses an eye to a button. Imagine how that would look on the headlines: _America’s Third President Gored by Previous Secretary of Treasury, Stuffed Lobster_. Jefferson rubs at his nose where it has been smushed and glares at Hamilton. “I can dress how I want. You know why? Because I’m the _president_. And what are you, a school mascot?”

Hamilton puts his claws on his hips. “Very funny.” His antenna bob.

“Why in god’s name are you dressed like that, Alexander?”

He shrugs. Of course, Jefferson can only tell he is shrugging from his facial expression. The suit rather hinders movement. “It was on sale and besides. John is protesting the abhorrent state of the seafood industry’s commitment to humane and ethical animal treatments, so I’m going to sell it to him after Halloween so he can use it at his rallies.”

Jefferson’s eyebrows go up. “So...practical.”

“Yeah, he’s got one for Burr, too. He says it’s a,” Hamilton lifts his claws and jerks them around in what Jefferson can only interpret as air quotes, “‘couples protest.’” Hamilton nods and then seems to remember his own cause. “HEY, back to the matter at hand. No dressing up as president, Mr. President!”

“And what are you going to do about it, Bug Eyes?” Jefferson asks while he adjusts his tie.

Hamilton’s face goes as red as his costume and he lifts his claws in the air for a return to thwapping, but Jefferson anticipates the movement. He wraps his arms around the warm, stuffed material and swings, dipping Hamilton in a perfect dance maneuver. Hamilton makes a very un-lobster like squeak, but by that time, Jefferson has followed through with his original intention and kissed the shit out of Hamilton just to shut him up.

Hamilton melts like a lobster in butter, his claws swinging in the breeze. And once Jefferson is done, he pulls back with a shit-eating grin on his face and drops Alex, watching in joy as his costume provides cushion and bouncing when he hits the floor.

“Eh,” Jefferson says, picking up his presidential cup, “I think I rather prefer crab.”


	18. Agricultural Title XX 732.12 Proposal [Hamilton/Jefferson]

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Tags: Email, Modern, Humor

TO: Thomas Jefferson ([ jeffersont@newgovernment.gov ](mailto:jeffersont@newgovernment.gov))  
FROM: Alexander Hamilton ([ hamiltona@newgovernment.gov ](mailto:hamiltona@newgovernment.gov))  
TIME: 2:56 PM  
SUBJECT: Re: Agricultural Title XX 732.12 Proposal

You are an absolute fucking moron. I cannot BELIEVE that you think creating these goddamn tax loopholes for your fricking PLANTATIONS is going to solve the damn economy. Um, you do remember who the fucking Secretary of the TREASURY is, right? I mean, hot damn, you couldn’t tell the difference between a dollar and a pickle splice. Totally incompetent. And how DARE you stand up there wearing your damn “farmer garb” and saying you understand the “people.” 732.12 is not about the PEOPLE. It’s about YOU. The small farms that need it aren’t going to get these financial benefits. You’ll put thousands of farmers out of jobs. And how dare you act like your plan is good for them with your farmer jeans and your farmer ass and did you put makeup on to make it look like dirt? Jesus, it’s like you want to fuck in the hay.

Omg, Thomas, we could fuck in the hay. Shit, you would get straw all up in your hair and you could dig your hands into those antique looking pallet board things and fuck, I would suck you off so good…

10 minutes. Tell Madison you aren’t feeling well and then come to the little office at the end that no one uses. You want to farm? Damn, come plow me.

* * *

TO: Alexander Hamilton ([ hamiltona@newgovernment.gov ](mailto:hamiltona@newgovernment.gov))  
FROM: George Washington ([ washingtong@newgovernment.gov ](mailto:washingtong@newgovernment.gov))  
TIME: 3:05 PM  
SUBJECT: Re: Re: Agricultural Title XX 732.12 Proposal

Hamilton, you do realize you hit reply all, don’t you?

President G. Washington


	19. The Best Candidate for the Job [Hamilton/Jefferson]

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> In honor of the U.S. Election tomorrow, here! Have some founding father fic!

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Chapter Tags: Presidential Election, Humor
> 
> So, you guys are probably thinking "um, it's Monday, not Tuesday. Does she know what time it is?" Well, here's some updates for you guys....
> 
> 1\. The sad news. I am going to stop posting drabbles on Tuesdays for the time being. I might start up again after awhile and I will still post random drabbles as they come to me, but there will be no drabbles on a set schedule. The reason I'm going to be stopping is because...  
> 2\. The good news! I'm about to start posting the long fic I've been working on! That's right! The Hamilton/Jefferson a/b/o is about to start! I'm going to post it on Tuesdays and Fridays, so TOMORROW THE FIC BEGINS!!!!!!!!!! Which is why I'm posting THIS drabble early! So tomorrow I can post the start of the long fic! 
> 
> and...
> 
> 3\. Not really related to the other two points, but does anyone know if there is a Hamilton or HamJeffs/Jamilton chat out there? I'm been wanting to connect with other writers and I'm wondering if anyone knows of a chatzy, chat, forum, or other thing to connect with people. If so, please let me know in the comments or via email (MichelleAEmerlind@outlook.com). Thanks, guys!

Jefferson stands before his T.V., one hand tucked under his armpit, the other up and rubbing at his jawline. Behind him, Madison encourages him once more to sit down like a proper gentleman, but Thomas refuses, instead glues his eyes to the T.V. even harder and digs his heels into the carpet with gusto. 

“He can’t win,” Thomas tells his companion. “Look, Madison, he just  _ can’t _ win. Do you know what I have done for my country in my presidency?” Madison mumbles along as if this is something he has frequently had to hear, which in fact, he has. “Two terms. Eight years. Eight years of glorious Democratic Republican sense and he’s going to come in like a tornado and just destroy it all. How can they elect him? Alexander Hamilton. The fourth president of...no. No, it just won’t happen. You watch. He’ll lose.” 

“It’s a tight race,” Madison agrees. 

“Yes,” Thomas says and latches onto that. “A tight race. Surely--” 

But the universe despises Thomas Jefferson. Because right then, the announcer, with a controlled kind of glee, informs them loudly and without any question that the winner of the presidential race is--

The door smacks back on its hinges and Jefferson and Madison both turn to their intruder. Hamilton goes from running with a painfully cocky grin on his face to lounging in the doorway as if he couldn’t care less, leaning against the doorframe and examining his nails. “ _ ‘Sup, _ gents,” he says. Jefferson nearly gags in disgust. “So, uh, heard some news you might want to hear.” He pushes his shoulder off from the frame and strolls smugly into the room. “ _ I _ heard that a certain--” 

“--don’t say it,” Jefferson groans. 

“--Mr. Former President Thomas Jefferson--” 

“--please don’t--” 

“--is about to be the lovely--” 

“--God--” 

“--the beautiful--” 

“--sweet Jesus--” 

“--First Lady of the United States of America.” Hamilton’s grin is so sleazy Jefferson is pretty sure you could fry chicken in that oil. “How you like them apples _ now _ , Tommy Boy!” 

“I hate you.” 

“See how  _ you _ like all those damn charity dinners.  _ I _ ,” Hamilton draws himself up to his full height as he gets close to Jefferson and pats him condescendingly on the back, “have done my time. My eight years of Miss America duty. It’s  _ your _ turn my friend.” Hamilton slaps his hands together and rubs. “Smile and wave, baby. SMILE AND WAVE.” 

He turns sharply on his heel and stomps away, nose in the air and Jefferson winces as he slams the door to the oval office. Madison just stares at him and then mutters ever so softly, “You were the one that married him.” 

“SHUT UP, JAMES,” Thomas growls and then straightens up, tugs down his suit jacket and smooths his tie. He sniffs with an air of authority. “I must go pick out china. The First Lady is responsible for the china patterns.” 

“I am so,  _ so _ sorry,” Madison tells him and doesn’t look sorry at all. 

 


End file.
